Page 75 of If You're Reading This
But what would I say? That I’m jumping at shadows? That normal fan interest has me checking locks and peering into darkness?
I know what he’d do—insist on staying here, or worse, have me stay in town where he could keep an eye on me. My work would suffer. And whatever fragile thing has been growing between us might wither under the weight of his concern and my inevitable resentment.
Still, I can’t shake the memory of that guy’s face at the last exhibition. How his enthusiasm seemed to sour when he saw Logan standing beside me, examining my latest print. The way his eyes followed us throughout the evening, calculating something I couldn’t name.
“He’s harmless,” the gallery owner assured me. “Buys something at every show. One of your most dedicated collectors.”
But something about his persistence makes me uneasy. The flowers he sends. The calls to the gallery asking when I’ll be there next. Meredith mentioned he’s purchased tickets to the conservation benefit next week—the one where I’m showing my popular Borealis Lake series.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe these disconnected incidents are exactly that—disconnected.
But in my photographs, I’ve always been drawn to patterns others miss. The subtle relationships between seemingly separate elements that, when viewed from the right perspective, reveal their true connection.
I’ve spent my career documenting the beauty in broken things. I just never expected to feel like one of them.
If you’re reading this, and something has happened to me. Maybe this will help you find me.
And Logan—if by some chance you ever read these words—I wish we hadn’t wasted so much time being careful.
—M
CHAPTER
FORTY
PRESENT DAY
Logan awokethe next morning ready to get to work. He’d stayed up late again, re-reading Morgan’s journal once more. Every time he read her words he felt as if he was getting to know her even better.
And every time, he felt more and more bothered by the burdens she was carrying that she hadn’t spoken about. Burdens he would have loved to help her carry. Burdens she had hidden away.
Burdens that seemed like the small fractures she always captured in her photos. The brokenness in the beauty.
She’d related more to those photos that he’d imagined.
Really, whenever he read her journal, he was searching for clues. But her entries had been too vague. She never mentioned specifics—only feelings or suspicions. No names.
However, today, he knew exactly what he needed to do.
When he wandered from the spare bedroom where he’d slept for the evening, he saw Simmy making pancakes in the kitchen.
He knew he’d have a hard time saying no to her offer of food, despite the urgency pressing in on him.
“I thought you could use a little nourishment before you set out for the day.” She flashed a soft smile at him.
He sat at the breakfast bar across from where she worked. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to.” She offered a sweet smile.
“I appreciate it, Simmy.”
She flipped a pancake. “I really enjoyed meeting Morgan at the wedding, and I regretted I couldn’t go to her award ceremony.”
“Ranger told me Anastasia had a school concert that evening. It’s understandable.”
She placed a stack of pancakes on a plate in front of him, followed by a bottle of syrup and a cup of steaming hot coffee.
Ranger really had found something special when he’d found Simmy. Logan was certain that Simmy would say the same of Ranger.
